


A Man Who Was Gonna Die Young

by SorryLove84



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:32:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorryLove84/pseuds/SorryLove84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are countless different realities, existing at the same time. Ace closes his eyes, ready to take Akainu's fatal blow in Luffy's place, and opens them to find a noose around his neck. Yanked from his reality's end at Marineford, he finds himself in a world of cattle rustling, tumbleweeds, and hanging judges. </p>
<p>Western AU. Also, I suck at summaries, I really really do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Times They Are A-Changin'

 He knew he should just turn and walk away. That was what Luffy and Pops had come here for. Hell, Pops had just given him--given everyone--a direct order. Get the hell outta here, back to the New World. But it was just like he’d told Dadan, once upon a very long time ago. He couldn’t run, couldn’t think beyond the pounding of blood in his ears, past the need to just **protect**.

And now it had gotten him a very burned hand and, he was certain, there was no escape from Death this time. No timely intervention of a crowd-shocking burst of Haoshoku. _Seriously, Luffy, though, what the hell?_ he thought. Akainu would kill him. And nobody, not Luffy, not Pops, not even Gramps - _as if he would_ , his brain whispered - would be able to stop it.

But, then, Akainu changed his path, didn’t go for another strike at Ace while he was down and still reeling from the pain of the last hit. He was... _No, no, no no nononono!!_

Ace moved before he was conscious of it. _Not Luffy. Not Luffy. I will not lose another brother_. It didn’t even cross his mind that his tattoo, his pirate’s pride and mark of honor, was about to be damaged. _This is it. The end of Portgas D. Ace, child of a demon, unwanted by the world, a criminal from your first breath_. He could feel the heat of that magma fist as it drew closer, and wasn’t that odd, that he was conscious of the heat of something. The seconds, it could only have been seconds, milliseconds, seemed to stretch into an eternity. Every muscle in his body braced for the impact he knew was coming, eyes screwed shut instinctively. _Don’t need Haki to see this move coming, he’s telegraphing it for the whole of the goddamn bay to see; gotta show the world that no blood of the Pirate King will stand up to the might of the Navy_. That searing heat was so close, he wondered that his skin wasn’t melting already, could feel the burn start, knew it would only get worse, and quickly. _At least I can see Sabo again…_

 

 


	2. Chapter One: The Outsiders

Ace opened his eyes, looked down toward his chest automatically, fully prepared to see a fist the size of his head and made of magma sticking out of his torso. Instead, his movement was hampered by something tightening around his neck, gagging him.

“Guh-wha-!?”

“Portgas, are you trying to make the hangman’s job easier?” a gruff, and oddly familiar, voice drawled from somewhere off to his left. A callused hand clamped down on his shoulder, fingers biting into the muscle. “Quit movin’, boy.”

Mind whirling, Ace jerked his head up toward the source of the voice. Felt his head connect with something hard. Even as stars were sparking in his vision from the impact, he felt that tightening around his neck again, turning his curse into another fit of gagging and inelegant hacking. “The--what--fuck--who?!” Even as the hand on his shoulder dropped away - _probably because you just rammed your head into its owner’s chin, genius_ \- he began to take notice of his surroundings. Something in his chest tightened at the realization that nothing was right about where he was. There was no salty ocean air, even tinged as it had been with the acrid stench of gunpowder and the metallic undertones of blood and death that had permeated the air at Marineford. No background noise of Marines and pirates clashing, no sword strikes ringing in the air, none of the dull thuds of flesh striking flesh, voices raised in combat. The sky wasn’t clouded with smoke from cannon fire or the ashes that his own flames had left in the air, there were no towering walls of ice from Pops’ frozen display of power, and no blinding glints of light from Kizaru’s and Marco’s abilities.

The air was dry, dusty almost, coating the back of his throat with a fine coat of grit as he hacked and coughed. The noises filtering in were strange; there was certainly a level of human noise, voices in the background, but there was something he knew for damn sure didn’t belong in the middle of Marineford - he could hear the unmistakable lowing of cows and the snuffling and whickering of horses. The sky was a brilliant blue, barely even marred by clouds that were gently making their way across it, fluffy white things untouched by the pollution of warfare. His eyes focused finally on the area immediately in front of him. Wooden buildings, dusty street, two horses tethered to a post next to a water trough, saddles loosened for comfort. People were milling about, some stopping to look his way, most continuing on their way. He could distinctly make out a “Saloon” sign hanging from the building the horses stood in front of.

_Clearly, I am not in Marineford. What kind of cracked-up hallucination is this!?_ His brain was reeling as he tried again to look down at himself. The pressure on his neck once again stopped him, and he realized that it was rope, a good thick length of rope, around his neck, one that wouldn’t be out of place on the Moby Dick rigging.

There was a noose around his neck.

Even as his eyes widened at this realization, a familiar face appeared in his line of sight. White hair ruffled in the slight, hot breeze, brows pulled down into a frown, gray eyes narrowed against the sun, teeth clenched around a cigar. Every part of the expression on the man’s face radiated anger and frustration, and Ace would have put good money on the man’s hands being clenched into fists tight enough to make the veins in those hard muscled arms pop out.

“Smoker.” His own voice was gravelly from coughing against the noose and the grit in the air.

Grey eyes narrowed even more, teeth biting into the cigar so hard Ace wondered it didn’t just snap. “That’s Sheriff, brat.”

“Sheri--huh?” Ace shook his head like he was trying to clear water from his ears.

“Shut yer mouth, Portgas, before I decide to gag you.” Rough hands were back on his shoulders, shoving him back a step and releasing some of the pressure on his neck as the noose slackened. Smoker’s eyes shifted from Ace’s face, first left, then right, before locking back onto Ace. “And whatever happens, just trust that I will get you back to Old Man Newgate, so keep your godforsaken mouth shut no matter what wild thought pops into your vacant head.” This was said so low Ace barely heard him.

“Sheriff! Sir, we’ve got trouble riding up the street!” At the raised voice coming from somewhere behind Ace, Smoker swore under his breath and stepped back. Ace finally got a good look at the rest of the man. Dark jeans, dark boots, a dusty khaki-colored button-up shirt with what appeared to be a gold star pinned to it peeking out from the black duster that encompassed the man’s frame, stopping at about calf height. He didn’t miss the gun holstered to the man’s hip, either.

That’s it; he had finally cracked, gone off the deep end. He was having some sort of near-death hallucination, that oddly, seemed to still have him near death, and it involved, of all people on the planet, the Navy’s rogue dog and his brother’s own personal pursuer, that bastard White Hunter, Smoker. Only, he wasn’t wearing a Marine uniform, that blasted sea stone jitte was nowhere in sight, and he was dressed like one of those damn cowboys Ace and his crew had run across on their first stop after Reverse Mountain, back before there was Pops and Teach and Impel Down. There had been some cactus juice on that island that he vaguely remembered drinking, and only then because Trig would bring up his captain’s hallucinogen-induced shenanigans at inappropriate moments.

Smoker’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What kind of trouble? And if you tell me it’s Newgate’s boys, Helmeppo, I swear to God and the little baby Jesus that you will spend the rest of the day helping Makino clean up the back room of her bar.” Ace cut his eyes back to Smoker, saw the fist planted on the hip that wasn’t holding a gun, the hipshot stance that radiated pure annoyance, right down to the toes of the scuffed boots.

“I...the whole back room, sir?” The answering voice was sullen, like it already knew the answer.

“Son of a bitch. Well, go stop ‘em, boy! What in the hell do you think that badge is for!” Smoker spat, yanking the cigar out of his mouth and tossing it to the dirt. “You tell them the judge said they weren’t to be anywhere near town today, and they know damn well why.” He started to turn back to Ace, paused. “And go kick Jango awake, you’ll probably need the extra hands.”

“Jango’s still laid up at the doc’s from that brawl down at the Laughing Hyena ranch, Sheriff…”

“Then grab Fullbody, dammit, just go!” he snarled, finally turning back to face Ace with a slightly beleaguered expression drawing across his face. Ace heard the scuffing of boots running through dirt as Helmeppo ran to follow Smoker’s orders.

_Helmeppo...isn’t that the guy with the weird chin and wraparound shades that was stuck to the pink-haired kid like glue???_ he wondered briefly, tilting his head back slightly to meet Smoker’s eyes. Started to ask a question, thought better of it when Smoker growled, actually growled, at him, and closed his mouth so hard his teeth snapped together with a painful click. Smoker narrowed his eyes at him, eyebrows drawn so close together it looked painful, and fished a cigar out of his pocket, stuck it between his teeth.

As the scowling man in front of him bit the end of the cigar off, spat it behind him to the dirt, and fished a tarnished silver lighter from the pocket of his jeans, another thought flitted through Ace’s head.

He couldn’t feel his fire.

His hands were cuffed behind his back, he could feel the metal digging into his skin, but it wasn’t sea stone. There was no bone-deep weariness he’d come to associate with the stuff after being stuck in it for so long in the bowels of Impel Down, no chill he had come to associate with the crushing depths of the ocean. But he knew, he could feel, deep down, that he wouldn’t be able to light so much as a candle wick. His flames, something that had come to be as integral a part of his very being as the freckles scattered across his nose, were gone. The realization sent a chill down his spine so strong he actually felt his knees start to buckle.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” A strong hand clamped around his elbow, held him up even as his legs started to give way. Smoker was back in his field of view, scowl replaced by a frown that held a hint of genuine concern around the edges. Grimacing as he hauled Ace back upright, Smoker brought his other hand up to tip Ace’s chin back, stared at black eyes gone slightly glassy. “You wanna give Sakazuki the pleasure of watching your neck stretch?” he hissed, fingers digging in at Ace’s elbow and on his jaw.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ace whispered, blinking rapidly in the bright sunlight. He couldn’t breathe, could feel a weight on his chest as crushing as any ocean depths, and struggled just to get air into his lungs.

“You ain’t hanging here today, boy, just remember that,” Smoker growled into his ear, gravelly voice low. “So get your wits back about you; you look like a damn foal that ain’t figured his legs out yet.”

Well, that was an analogy Ace had never heard. The sheer alienness of it shocked his brain back into gear, reminding him of the rope that had once again gone taught around his throat. Drawing in a deep, if slightly shaky, breath, he closed his eyes and straightened up, feeling the pressure around his neck loosen as he got his legs back under him.

“I can’t stand here holding you upright, Portgas,” Smoker said, grey eyes shifting to look at something over Ace’s shoulder. “Keep on your feet, unless you want to really follow in your bastard of a father’s footsteps.”

_Nice to know some things haven’t changed_ , Ace thought darkly, quite unable to help the scowl that spread over his face. _Still Roger’s hellspawn, even in my psychotic breaks._

The vice-like grip at his elbow and jaw disappeared as Smoker took a step back, hands now shoved firmly in his pockets. He looked Ace over once, and grunted out what may have been a curse. “Seems our resident hanging judge has decided to come watch you swing. Remember what I said, and keep your mouth shut, you hear me, boy?” There was no mistaking the threat that ran through Smoker’s warning. Ace glared up at Smoker, barely hearing the footsteps approaching.

The voice that followed the footsteps sent another chill down his spine.

“Afternoon, Sheriff.” Even with his face half hidden by a white cowboy hat, there was no mistaking Akainu’s voice. “It’s such a fine day out, isn’t it? I hate having to oversee these types of affairs in...inclement weather.”

“Your Honor,” Smoker gritted out, touching his fingers to his forehead in a half-hearted salute. “We’re still waiting for the hangman to show up, sir.”

“That’s alright. I can wait.” Looking perfectly at ease, Akainu stepped into the shade of the gallows Ace stood on, tipping his head back to stare right at Ace. “The law always has time to watch gutless criminals swing.”

 

 


	3. Chapter Two: Modern Day Prodigal Son

“Get out of the way, lawman. I ain’t got time to dick around with you.”

“No, sir. Sheriff Smoker says y’all aren’t allowed in town, orders of Judge Sakazuki.” His voice may have been shaking, but Helmeppo was steady as a rock, even under the glares being aimed directly at him. He’d made sure his badge was displayed prominently, had even taken the time to grab his hat when he pulled Fullbody out of the jail where he’d been babysitting the two drunks taking up space in the holding cells. _And boy, am I glad he’s here_ , he thought, though he would sooner bite his tongue than admit as much to the other deputy.

“You boys need to saddle back up and get back to Newgate’s property,” Fullbody growled, leveling a hard stare at the man in front. He was glad to be off drunk-watching duties, but standing here a heartbeat away from a brawl with Edward Newgate’s toughest men really didn’t seem like an improvement. If Lady Luck was any help at all today, this would end without him dragging Helmeppo to Doc’s. Or himself. “Sheriff don’t want no trouble from Old Man Newgate--”

“Little late for that,” Marco drawled, tipping his hat back and tilting his head at Fullbody. “Seeing as word is ya got a noose around our man’s neck at this very moment.”

“And that our resident hanging judge his own self dragged his no-good hide down to watch,” Jozu added, looming in the background over everyone else’s heads.

“Don’t know about all that,” Helmeppo said, still standing straight as a rod. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “Sheriff says go home. Says y’all been warned by His Honor to stay clear of town.” Taking a deep breath, he met Marco’s gaze. “So I suggest all of you mount back up and ride out before we have to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

Fullbody bit back a groan. Helmeppo could barely arrest Crazy Spandam, and he had all the strength of a boned fish. Getting into a fight with four of old Ed Newgate’s boys was not something he wanted to spend the day recovering from. And, smart though he may be, Helmeppo was just stupid enough to say something that would end with him and Fullbody picking up their teeth from the dirt.

“Thatch,” he said, turning his gaze to the laid-back brunette slouched against one of Whitey Bay’s runoff barrels, “listen to reason, here, would ya? Y’all head on back to Ed’s place, stay there. Sakazuki’ll have everyone’s hides if he finds out you boys were anywhere near town today.”

“Give us a reason, Deputy Fullbody,” Thatch replied easily. He turned his head just enough to catch Fullbody’s eye, and Fullbody suddenly wasn’t seeing the man who would cheerfully trounce him at poker then buy a round of drinks with his winnings, but one of the men who’d become known for their ruthless protection of their own, who would draw down on him without a second thought.

“I’m asking you, as a friend and officer of the law, to clear out.” Fullbody’s hand shifted ever-so-slightly backward toward his gun. “The marshals are riding into town today, don’t give us a reason to call ‘em out to the ranch.”

“Kuzan and Garp?” Vista spoke for the first time, elbowing past Jozu and shoving the bundle of reins he was holding into the larger man’s hands. “Sheriff called the marshals in?”

“Sent a rider out day before yesterday,” Fullbody confirmed. He met Marco’s eyes, caught the sharp look the blond man was sending him. There was a tense moment of silence, broken only by the soft whickering of the horses. Marco’s face was unreadable, his dark eyes shadowed by the hat he’d let slip back down on his head. Fullbody resisted the urge to shift his hand back toward his pistol any further, knowing that even the slightest perceived threat would destroy the accord he was trying desperately to reach.

“Boys,” Marco finally drawled, “Mount up. We’re going back to Pop’s.”

“You sure about that, Marco?” Jozu asked, voice lowered like Fullbody and Helmeppo wouldn’t be able to hear him. He glanced toward the deputies then back at Marco.

“Yeah, Jozu," Thatch said. “We’re riding out. Don’t feel like tangling with no marshals today.” Turning, he elbowed his way past Vista and Jozu, plucking the reins for his horse out of the larger man’s hands. Readjusting his hat, he swung up onto the dusty dun with ease. “C’mon, Marco. Pops will be worried.”

Fullbody and Helmeppo stayed where they were, watching as the men mounted their horses. Neither man dared to move until the group disappeared around the corner of the Flowering Hand Casino. Fullbody glanced toward Helmeppo as soon as the dust from the horses had settled. The poor kid looked like he was going to fall over. “You alright over there, buddy?” he asked easily, fishing in his pocket for the pouch of chewing tobacco he’d grabbed from his desk.

“I...yeah.” Helmeppo took a deep breath, pulling his hat off to run a hand through his blond hair. “Should we have told ‘em the marshals are on the way?”

“Easiest way to get ‘em outta here and keep the whole lot of them out of trouble," Fullbody muttered, pinching off some of the tobacco and holding the pouch in Helmeppo’s general direction. Face turning slightly green, Helmeppo shook his head in refusal. “They won’t be back in town today, at least. Tomorrow’s another story.”

“Wish I knew what the sheriff was playin’ at,” Helmeppo muttered, staring down at the brim of his hat. “I don’t think Ace killed that guy.”

“Makes two of us, kid," Fullbody agreed. “C'mon. Let’s get back and check on those two drunks. Old Tsuru will have our hides if she gets in before we get back.”

 

_________________________________________________________

 

“Can’t these two nags go any faster?!”

“We run them any harder and they’ll drop dead right underneath us.”

“Tch.”

“We’ll get there, Garp.”

“I sure hope so, Kuzan. I’d hate to force you to arrest me for killin’ a judge.”


End file.
